


When the Promise Breaks (The Seasons of Love Remix)

by SRoni



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SRoni/pseuds/SRoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seasons pass, life changes. Mark and Joanne grow closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Promise Breaks (The Seasons of Love Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [via_ostiense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Commiseration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/163199) by [via_ostiense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense). 



> I don't believe that it was ever stated inside the movie when it was taking place. If it did, this story isn't going to hold true to the year. I moved it up to present day, instead of when it was first filmed.

Winter was the season of death. It’s when everything dies. It’s the season of grief.

Winter was the first time Joanne and Mark slept together without it meaning anything. It was the night of the Commitment Ceremony and its following breakup. Joanne was dealing with the death of her relationship with Maureen, and it seemed painfully fitting that the plants were dead and the trees were bare when the relationship died. It might not have been a legal marriage, but Joanne’s was even more laughably short than Britney Spears’ had been. How many people get dumped by their Significant Other at the _reception_?

Sure, she could say that she and Maureen dumped each other. But she knew the truth. She’d been dumped. Publically. The words might have been said by both women at the same time, but the people who really knew Joanne knew that she was trying to save face, and trying to not suffer from complete and total humiliation.

Strange that the only people who really knew her were five of Maureen’s friends. And odd that instead of trailing behind Maureen, that group of friends that weren’t hers because she’d inherited them from Maureen had followed Joanne to make sure _she_ was okay.

She didn’t remember what she said to Angel and Mimi in her state of confusion and heartbreak to make them leave her alone. All she knew was that whatever it was, it had been frigidly polite at best, because Joanne knew herself and knew how she responded to things. Joanne gets hurt, and she pulls emotionally inward, presenting a tough-as-nails bitchy exterior. Whatever it was she had said, it did the trick, because the two gave her hugs and made her promise to call them if she needed anything, and left, dragging Collins and Roger with them. Joanne heard Angel and Mimi try to convince Mark to leave Joanne alone, and heard Mark’s just-as-loud responses to their arguments, before the door shut, and she was alone in her apartment with Mark.

Before Joanne could kick him out, he began playing bartender for her, and since she wanted nothing more than to get rip-roaring-sloshed-drunk, because Joanne was _responsible_ and _dependable_ and _never_ did anything like _that_ , she was not about to make him leave. What she knew about alcohol you could fit into a thimble. Mark had put himself through college bartending.

Besides, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, it was nice to have someone there who actually understood. Someone who _really_ understood. Mark knew all Maureen’s faults- and there were plenty of them- but he also knew all the good things about her. Maureen could be selfish, but she’d also move heaven and hell to right an injustice. Maureen demanded center stage in everything she did, but she was also vivacious and was one of those people that could make everyone around her feel good when she smiled. Maureen was loud and obnoxious, exuberant and embraced life with everything she had.

Mark knew what it was like to be the transfixed moth drawn to Maureen’s flame, knowing you were going to be burned alive but until it happened, all you could do was bask in the warm glow until you were consumed by the flames. They’d both been drawn to her zeal, her zest for life, her determination to squeeze every last drop of what life had to offer.

Mark and Joanne weren’t like that. They were watchers, not participators. Mark participated through a viewfinder, feeling more at home behind a camera than anywhere else. Joanne participated through a sound booth, feeling more at ease working with machines than people. She enjoyed being a lawyer, and it paid the bills. But her first love had been sound and light and making things come alive with the right blend. But working a sound booth wasn’t a dependable way to pay the bills, and Joanne was a pragmatist above everything else. She envied Mark that in spite of everything, he was still an idealist. He’d held on to his belief that if everyone would just do their part, the world would be a better place, and to get them to do that, all they needed was the right wake-up call. Joanne, on the other hand, believed that people had stopped caring about things that didn’t directly affect them a long time ago.

They’d been attracted to Maureen’s vitality, but in the end, it was also what drove them nuts about her. They wanted quite time when they could mellow out. And sometimes, they wanted a chance to be in the limelight, instead of always having to step aside so Maureen could take her rightful spot downstage center.

The night went on, the drinks turned to more liquor and less mixer, tongues got loos, the world went floaty and fuzzy around the edges, and somewhere along the line, she realized she didn’t hate Mark like she used to.

And it shocked her more to discover that somewhere along the line, he’d come to the some realization about her for himself.

Right around the time that everything got soft and fuzzy and squishy in the middle, Mark slung his arm around Joanne, slurring his words as he announced, “You know, we’ve got a lot in common.” His glasses had long since disappeared, softening his features and making him look years younger, and he was probably too drunk to realize that she was Joanne and not Angel or Roger or Mimi or someone, anyone, else who didn’t hate his guts.

She got as far as the “Yeah?” before her tongue thickened in her mouth and she couldn’t continue because she realized that she didn’t hate him, not really, and they’d even managed to click at some point. She’d been in the process of making a cutting, searing retort, because that’s what she did, like ‘Yeah? Like an X chromosome?’ but the ‘Yeah?’ was as far as she got. Which was really pathetic for her. Joanne was renowned at all her schools, all the places she’d worked, anywhere she’d ever spent an extensive amount of time, for having a scathing response for any occasion, as long as she felt that the person deserved it. And if you’d asked her the day before, she would have put Mark in the category of people that deserved it, even though he’d done nothing to her but be part of Maureen’s past, and _God_ , when did Joanne turn into such a bitch?

“Yeah.” Mark appeared to not notice the sarcasm that had been packed into the single word, and got closer to her, so close she could see her reflection in his eyes, or would that be reflection **s** , plural, since there were two of them, one for each eye, and he _did_ have pretty eyes. She looked weird in his pretty eyes, all flat and out of proportion, which made sense, seeing as how eyes were concave, or was that convex? curved, she’d go with curved, surfaces and flat surfaces on curved structures always looked weird, like trying to make a flat map of the world, but of course, she wasn’t flap _or_ a map, but, oh, hell with it. Drunk logic was all rambly and didn’t make so much sense as sober logic, and when you were sober, drunk logic didn’t make nearly as much sense as it had made when you were drunk.

 _While she was babbling in her mind, Mark continued trying to explain why he thought they had a lot in common. “A lot. A lot a lot. Like, this much a lot.” He threw his arms out, a grand gesture that was apparently meant to indicate a lot, but mostly succeeded at whacking her in the head._

 _She hit him back, or tried to, and lost her balance. She grabbed for the nearest available solid obhect on her way down to the floor, which happened to be Mark, and since he was just as drunk as she was, he came crashing down on top of her._

 _Mark kept talking, and it took her a moment to realize that he was _still_ trying to convince her of their similarities. “Obviously, we both have Maureen in common. We’re both drunk. We both loved Maureen for the same reasons, and she dumped us both publically, and we both spent the night of being dumped drinking, and I’ll bet she’s at some bar right now dancing on the bar with some bitch in rubber because she’s Maureen and that’s what she does.”_

“She isn’t!” Joanne offered up a lame protest, feeling the need to defend her ex even now.

“She is, too, because that’s what she does when she’s feeling like a bitch, or when she’s in a good mood, or when she’s angry or upset or if the day ends in y. She goes to the bars and turns on the Maureen magic that can make gay men fall in love with her, and she rides them hard and then breaks their hearts.” Mark’s head was resting between her breasts as he talked, one of his hands had sneaked up her shirt and was tracing idle patterns on her side that was driving her nuts.

She smacked his hand. She didn’t want to think about Maureen, because eventually, everything _always_ came back to Maureen and Joanne didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. But if she didn’t think about Maureen, she’d think about Mark and getting dumped, and that there was someone here who was willing to take some weight off the crushing loneliness. “Getting really drunk and having really bad sex with the ex of your ex is so far beyond pathetic that it’s… really, _really_ pathetic.”

“Hey, now, apparently Maureen’s been telling you things that just aren’t true, because sex with me wouldn’t be really bad. Mediocre, maybe, but not bad.” He looked up at her with bleary eyes that showed that his idealism was giving up and reality was winning in spite of the humor he was trying to use.

“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s really freaking pathetic.” His hands were roving slowly, as though she were that map of the world she’d thought of earlier, and like he was trying to memorize her.

“I don’t care.” He tried to kiss her, but without his glasses, his depth perception sucked and he landed on her neck instead. Which wasn’t a bad place to kiss, either.

He hands settled low on his back, her legs wrapping around him. “I don’t care, either.” It was a lie, and she knew that he could hear it in her shaking voice, she cared, she knew she cared, but she didn’t care _enough_ to put a stop to the pathetic madness. She should, she knew she should. It wasn’t fair to him, but he was there, and he was willing and she couldn’t pull together enough care to care enough.

Even though he’d instigated it, he still gave her a chance to back out, and her respect for him rose a couple of notches. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair and repeated in a slightly steadier voice this time, “I don’t care.” He was thin and hard and all male with no curves, and she couldn’t close her eyes and pretend he was something he wasn’t. So she kissed him with her eyes open and didn’t try to pretend.

When the sun rose the next morning, he was gone.  
***

Spring was supposed to be the time of birth, of renewal. It wasn’t supposed to be a time of death.

But this spring, it was both. Joanne was just starting to have hope again, and some of it -a lot of it- had to do with Mark.

The second time they slept together without it meaning anything was after Angel’s funeral. The brightness of the day cut deep. Flowers were blooming. The sun was bright. Birds were singing. And that just wasn’t right. The day should have been dark and rainy. Angel was one of the most selfless people Joanne had ever known. Between the grief of a losing a friend, and the emotions that rose in Joanne at seeing Maureen again for the first time since the break up, she wanted to numb the pain with alcohol and numb the loneliness with someone who understood and wouldn’t expect anything more than what it was. This time, Joanne went home with Mark and played bartender. As though to accentuate the differences, there wasn’t any chatter to go along with it. They spoke, but it was to catch each other up on things. She started mixing the drinks stronger and stronger until there was no mixer and it was just alcohol and it burned her throat on the way down. This time, Joanne was the instigator, and she argued with him with her words and her hands and he quickly gave up. She wasn’t a lawyer for nothing.

The first time had been frenzied, fast, and almost violent as they’d wrung reactions out of each other.

This time was slower, more time taken to study each other and more care given.

But some things remained the same. She still couldn’t pretend he was something he wasn’t, and this time, when the sun came up in the morning, she was gone, the only indication of her presence having been there in the first place being the empty bottles of alcohol and the lingering scent of her gardenia perfume in the air.  
***

Months went by, and Joanne would call Mark to check up on him, since he was living by himself for the first time since Roger had given up on being a rock star. Then he started calling back and soon they were calling just to keep the other up to date on what was going on in each other’s lives. Then they started talking just to talk, about how they felt about things, or things they wanted to do. Then they started hanging out, and Joanne realized they were actually _friends_. When the hell had _that_ happened?

Summer rolled around, the bright season when things were bright and cheerful and comfortable. And that’s how things had become with Mark. They could make each other laugh, and they could relax with each other and just be comfortable. The third time that Mark and Joanne slept together, the two of them were hanging out as they’d gotten used to doing on Friday nights, and the alcohol made things nice and comfortable, and they found themselves laughing as they fell into the bed together.

Joanne left as the sun was rising, wondering if maybe she should have stayed that time.  
***

Autumn was when the bright colors started turning dark, and death started creeping into life again. Summer turned to fall, and Joanne and Mark dressed each other up for Halloween, remembering the year previous and the fun that the now-splintered group had had. They wound up on her couch, watching Mark’s videos of the seven of them. That was the first time they slept together without the aid of alcohol to propel them.

It was the first time that Joanne admitted to herself that just maybe, it was no longer meaningless sex that was simply for the sake of comfort and subverting the loneliness.

She allowed herself to think that this time, they’d wake up and watch the sunrise together.

She rolled over as the sky was turning pink, and his side of the bed was already cooling, and she realized that a small death had already struck before she’d even realized that there was a living relationship there.  
***

Winter came back. Mark was avoiding Joanne, so she threw herself into work.

And then Roger was back home, and Mimi was missing, so the group was together again to look for her, still feeling the gaping hole where Angel was supposed to be.

Mark and Collins stayed with Roger in Mark’s apartment, and that meant Maureen and Joanne were stuck looking for Mimi together.

Conversation was stilted between the two women, and Joanne was glad when they found Mimi on multiple levels.

Mark noticed when Joanne looked at Maureen, but didn’t seem to know that she’d looked at Maureen only when Mark was about to notice her looking at him.

He started trying harder to avoid her.

Finally, Joanne was fed up with it, and she knocked on his door. When he opened it, she didn’t ask if she could come in; she simply lowered her shoulder and shoved her way in.

“You know, most people wait to be asked before they barge on in.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

Joanne mimicked his pose without the wall to lean on. “Most people don’t drop their friends out of their lives without saying anything.”

Mark shrugged. “You’re making an assumption there, Miss Ivy League.”

That hurt Joanne more than avoiding her had. Avoiding was rough, but it wasn’t malicious. Calling her that? That had been chosen simply to hurt her- it was one of the things Maureen had called Joanne during the break up.

Joanne felt her face harden. “What the hell happened, Mark? I thought– you know what? Forget it.” She started to walk past him when his voice stopped her.

“You thought I’d always be good for a pity fuck? That you’d be feeling lonely over Maureen, and snap your fingers, and I’d be right there?” His voice was razor sharp, biting and cutting into her.

She squared her shoulders and held her head high. “No. I thought that we were on the same wavelength. I thought you considered me a friend, too. I assumed you’d know that I respected you too much to let it be a pity fuck or comfort fuck or whatever else you want to call it anymore. Maybe it started out that way, but that’s not how it was for me last time.”

His voice gentled, but only barely. Joanne still heard the difference. “I’m not going to be your second choice, Joanne. I spent months being yanked back and forth by Maureen. I’m not gonna be that guy again.”

“Am I asking you to? I don’t want Maureen anymore. I realized that last week. I can look at her and see the past, but it’s not what I want anymore.”

Mark took a tiny step towards her. “And what is it that you want?”

Joanne closed the distance between them. “I want to not leave before the sun comes up.”

“I’m not Maureen.” His hand rested on her hip.

She lifted her hand to his cheek. “I don’t want you to be.” She could see her reflection, reflections, whatever, in his eyes, only this time, she didn’t think she looked weird and out of proportion. Her reflection was the way it should be, and she thought that maybe he was the only one who could really see her as she was. And that that was the way it should be.

The first time that Joanne and Mark slept together, it was because of a broken promise, and it didn’t mean anything.

The first time that Joanne and Mark slept together and it meant something, it was because of a promise found, and it meant everything.


End file.
